Writing Because I Still Can
I was grateful this morning for the subtle symphony of meditative beats made by droplets of water that wanted out after I turned off the shower.
I watched them fall from the faucet in sort of a simulated slow-motion and an unmistakable rhythm popped off of the floor near my feet.
I was also grateful for how effortlessly my arm moved to grab the towel. And how fresh it felt as I brought it to my face.
Taking time to notice these moments and taking more time to write about them now will not help my career or advance my bank account by a cent. And it certainly won’t alleviate or assuage the disappointment I unintentionally dole out to others. This I know to be true.
But one day I might be too poor or too rich to relate to this beauty. Or too sick or too rushed.
So I am grateful that I was grateful for something so inconsequential.
Because like the others, my bones and my blood will one day be nothing but dust.